Remembering Sandy Hook . . .

Everywhere here is deep in winter now,

But there a school sits frozen forever

In the few moments that keep repeating

Themselves, wind worrying at windows

Of an empty school bus, snow drifting

Across the silent playground, echoes

Of children lifting in the wind toward

The cold hard light of stars that seem

More distant, and we more aware that

Some flared briefly that now are dead.

All the icy ribbons of road end, here

And there, where above frozen ground

Small stones keep saying their names.